Damage Control
by GhyllWyne
Summary: Mary Watson deals with the aftermath of a very bad choice. Part of the "Simple Truths" universe. Missing scenes from HLV.
1. Chapter 1

"Damage Control" by GhyllWyne

Missing scene from HLV where Mary Watson begins to realize the consequences of her actions.

She had panicked. There was no other way to describe it. For the first time in her career (lovely euphemism, that) she had totally lost control, and now she stood an excellent chance of losing everything.

What had she missed? What the *hell* had she missed?

_*Damn you, Sherlock. What were you trying to do? How in hell did you get into his office?*_

And he'd brought John along, no surprise there. He must have been confident of getting out again undetected. He'd probably still thought Magnusson would be out. She had learned otherwise, but clearly Sherlock had not. He had expected the office to be empty so he could do whatever it was he had planned.

She took the next turn far too quickly and the rear tyres skidded briefly. That pulled her attention back to the road. She needed to find a place to park the car she'd stolen a few hours ago, not get herself pulled over for speeding, for Christ's sake.

There was an alley up ahead on the right, near enough to home so that she could walk it in a few minutes. She pulled in and parked, keeping her head down as she walked back to the street. CCTV cameras were everywhere these days. Head down in the dark was the best disguise.

She had waited outside long enough to see them rush Sherlock to the ambulance with John running alongside. Even at a distance of thirty meters, she could read John's fear, and it made her wonder if her failures extended to missing her aim as well. She'd meant to take him down, not kill him.

There was no possibility that John would be at home, but she took the precaution of entering through the back, just in case. Her track record for anticipating events so far tonight was abysmal.

She knew perfectly well how unpredictable Sherlock Holmes could be. Finding him in Magnusson's office should not have come as such a shock, and it should most certainly not have caused her to make such a horribly bad choice in response. If she had been able to think clearly, she would have recognized him as an ally. He'd never have let John know she was there. Breaking John Watson's heart was the last thing Sherlock would let anyone do. Not even her. Especially not her. He would have dealt with her privately. They'd have found a way to accomplish their mutual goals of stopping Magnusson, and protecting John from finding out what kind of woman he had married. She knew that. God, she knew that. Why had she shot him?

For all her calm exterior (_If you take one more step, Sherlock, I swear, I will kill you_), her mind had been spinning out of control. (_John's here John's here John's here_), and when Sherlock had looked at her with such trust (_No, Mrs. Watson, you won't_), it had all come crashing down on her. She had turned a bad situation into a catastrophe.

And why wasn't John calling her? They should have reached the hospital twenty minutes ago. John would be frantic with worry, and he would need to talk to her. He thought she was asleep in their bed, and he would want that mental image to keep him grounded while he waited for word on his friend.

Unless the waiting was already over. Unless she had killed his best friend, and there was nothing she could do to help him now.

Or Sherlock was conscious, and he had already told John who shot him.

Please, God, no. You have no reason to help me, but please. Help John. Please don't let this happen.

The phone rang, and she answered it, too quickly and far too alertly, she realized a moment too late.

"Mary?"

She tried to cover her mistake by yawning into the receiver. "John? What's wrong?

"Sherlock's been shot."

Careful now. Weigh every word. "Oh, my God, John! Are you all right? What happened?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, but Mary..." She heard him take a shaky breath. "Mary, it's very bad. We nearly lost him in the ambulance."

"Where are you? I'm coming down there. Just give me a few minutes to get dressed and-"

He cut her off, and his voice sounded almost normal. "No, don't come down. It's going to be a long wait, and there's nothing you can do here. I just...I just needed to hear your voice."

His breathing was slowing down. He sounded calmer. "All right, John. I'll stay home. You take care of him, and take care of yourself. Call me the moment you have word."

"I will. I promise."

She replaced the receiver, then stood quietly for a long moment, gathering herself. He didn't know. Sherlock hadn't told him, or couldn't. Either way, she had time to think. Time to control the damage.

End of part 1

Author's notes - This is the first of several vignettes that will be posted in the next few days centering on Mary Watson's role in HLV. Feedback inspires the muse, so please be generous. -GW


	2. Chapter 2

Damage Control - part 2

She had heard nothing from John for hours now, and the wait had become intolerable. The hospital information operator refused to confirm that Sherlock was even a patient, let alone give her an update on his condition.

John had not told her which hospital, but it wasn't difficult to identify the one nearest to Magnusson's office. She had arrived by taxi ten minutes ago, and had spent all of them being read chapter and verse from the Hospital Privacy Rules by an officious little prick with atrociously bad breath.

No, they could not confirm the name of any patient. No, she would not be permitted in the Intensive Care suite.

Taking a new approach, she asked for directions to the cafeteria. She would find her way to John on her own. As it turned out, *he* found *her*, and it took him less than a minute. She was crossing the lobby, headed for the stairs, when she heard him call her name. She looked up and spotted him on the floor above, leaning over the railing.

He met her at the top of the stairs, out of breath and grinning, and took her by the shoulders. "He's just bloody woken up! He's pulled through!"

"That's wonderful! Oh, John, I'm so glad for you." Her relief was genuine, but he erased it with his next words.

"And you, Mrs. Watson, are in big trouble." His smile vanished. "His first word when he woke up? 'Mary'."

He kept a straight face for just a moment, but it was long enough to make her mouth go dry. Then he pulled her into a hug.

"Can I see him?"

He straightened and looked at her. The smile was back. "Of course, he's right down here."

Mycroft was sitting next to Sherlock's bed. He looked up when John entered the room. Mary could tell the instant he spotted her, and his reaction was troubling.

John didn't seem to notice. "Look who I found in the lobby," he said happily, his focus clearly on Sherlock.

"Yes," Mycroft replied evenly. He stood and faced her, his posture stiff and formal, even for Mycroft.

John had moved to the other side of the bed, and she saw him scanning the monitors. "Has he been awake since I left?"

"You've only been gone five minutes," Mycroft replied drily, but he kept his focus on Mary.

Her internal alarms were jangling. Something about her being here was clearly bothering Mycroft. "I'm so glad he's doing better," she said.

"Yes," Mycroft repeated. "He very nearly died. I'm sure we're all very relieved."

His tone was odd, and his steady gaze was beginning to worry her.

"Come over and say hello," John called to her. Mycroft's gaze followed her across the room as she went to stand next to John.

"His color has improved."

He seemed oblivious to the tension she was sensing in Mycroft, but then it wasn't directed at him. She needed to get him out of the room. "John, why don't you and Mycroft go grab some coffee? You've been sitting here for hours. I'll stay with Sherlock."

John hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. "Okay, sure. That's probably a good idea." He smiled. "Keep him out of trouble while we're gone."

John headed for the door, then realized he was alone. "Mycroft? Are you coming?"

Mycroft's gaze locked with hers. "Yes, John. I'm coming." To Mary, he added, "Take good care of him, won't you?" Then he turned and followed John out of the room.

Mary stood staring at the empty doorway. It wasn't possible that he could know. It was simply not possible.

Sherlock moaned in pain, and her nursing instincts took over. She bent down and stroked his cheek. "Sherlock, it's Mary. You're doing much better." She saw that the morphine pump was set to a low dosage, something they would have done to encourage him to wake up. She increased it a few clicks, and he began to relax.

His eyes were open just far enough to expose a sliver of blue-green iris. It was costing him strength he didn't have to keep them that way. "Mary." His voice was a raspy whisper.

"Yes, Sherlock. It's Mary." She leaned close, her lips inches from his ear. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"John..." He managed a fractional increase in volume.

"You know why I'm here, don't you? Sherlock, you can't tell John what happened. Not until you and I can talk." She played the only card she had. "It would break his heart."

Sherlock's eyes closed. He rocked his head back and forth on the pillow, and even that small movement made him gasp in pain. "No..."

He was either agreeing with her, or telling her to go to hell. "Sherlock, you don't tell John. Promise me."

His nodded this time, just slightly. Even that small movement made him wince. "Promise." He whispered it, but she heard him perfectly.

She put her lips next to his ear. "Thank you. I promise you will never regret it." She kissed his forehead, and then rested her own against his. "Thank you," she whispered, and felt her eyes fill with tears.

When she straightened, a tear spilled down her cheek.

John was standing in the doorway, watching her.

end of part 2

Author's notes: So, how long was John standing there? Stay tuned. - GW


	3. Chapter 3

Damage Control - part 3

"Mary? What..." John's expression was unreadable. He tried again, "What's..." Apparently finding her in tears at Sherlock's bedside two minutes after he'd left the room had rendered him speechless. And then realization seemed to dawn. His eyes went wide. "Is he all right?" He covered the distance to the bed in two strides and quickly checked Sherlock's pulse. Then he scanned the bank of monitors, and his expression changed from alarm to confusion.

*He hadn't heard them, thank God.* Relief buckled her knees, and John grabbed her shoulders to keep her from falling. He guided her to the chair and crouched in front of her, holding one of her hands in both of his.

"God, Mary, I thought he'd died." He reached up and touched her face. "What happened?"

Her mind was spinning. She needed to stall for time to come up with an explanation. "Where's Mycroft?"

He frowned at the jarring non sequitur. "Uh...Mycroft got a call on his mobile before we even got to the lift. He said he'll be back as soon as he can." He gave his head a quick shake. "I was only gone two minutes. What happened?"

The short reprieve had given her time to both recover her composure, and come up with a story. "I guess it just hit me how easily it could have been you lying in that bed. You never told me your work with him was so dangerous. You said the two of you solve crimes. How did he get shot in the chest at a crime scene?"

John looked down at their joined hands for a moment. Then he nodded. "Okay." He got to his feet and brought the other chair over next to hers. He sat down and took her hands back. "We weren't at a crime scene. At least, it didn't start out as one. To tell you the truth, I don't know why we were there." He sighed. "It was the office of a man Sherlock is bent on bringing down. Charles Augustus Magnusson."

"The newspaper publisher," she said, since he seemed to be waiting for her to respond. "Sherlock is after him? Why?"

"He called him 'the Napoleon of blackmailers'. That's what all the drugs business was about, apparently. I'm not actually sure. We went there last night because Sherlock thought the office would be unoccupied. It wasn't."

He went quiet for a long moment, lost in thought.

"What happened, John?"

He shook it off and looked at her again. "I found him on the floor in Magnusson's flat. They were both there. Magnusson had been knocked unconscious, and Sherlock had been shot."

She was afraid to ask the question, but he would start wondering if she didn't. "Did Magnusson say who shot him? Did he see it happen?"

John looked at her with an expression that was too fleeting for her to classify, but it chilled her. "John?"

He shook his head. "He said he didn't know. Greg Lestrade arrived just as we were taking Sherlock down to the ambulance. He may have gotten more from him, but I doubt it."

Another dangerous question had to be asked. "Who do you think it could have been?"

This time, the fleeting expression stayed long enough for her to recognize it. When they had first started seeing each other, he had come to her flat for dinner one night and commented on a jigsaw puzzle she'd been working for days. While she prepared their food, he had worked on her puzzle. After they had finished eating, they had worked on it together and finished it. She had teased him about the way he screwed up his face when he was concentrating. He had laughed, and it was the first times she'd felt that this might be the man she could spend her life with. She called it his puzzle face. That was the expression she had just seen. He had found a missing piece of a puzzle, and he was looking for a place to fit it in.

"A man like Magnusson has a lot of enemies. My guess is, one of them chose tonight to kill him. Sherlock walked in on them and got shot."

He got to his feet so abruptly that it startled her. A split second later, an alarm on one of the monitors began to sound.

Mary pushed both chairs out of the way and quickly scanned the monitors. His heart rate had jumped into the high 180's, and his blood pressure was bottoming out.

"Sherlock!" John kept shouting his name while the room filled with equipment and people.

Mary pulled him into the hall with difficulty. "John, you can't be in there. You know that."

He was shaking his head in disbelief. "This shouldn't be happening. He was stable." He looked at her. "What happened while I was gone?"

The accusation in his tone was unmistakable. "I told you, John. Nothing happened. What are you saying?"

Through the open door, they heard the whine of a charging defibrillator, and John was back in the room before she could stop him. Mary leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

end of part 3

Author's notes: It's beginning to dawn on me that every story I've posted so far (Simple Truths, Damage Control 1 and 2, Crossfire) is part of the same story, "Simple Truths". I may have invented a new form of fanfiction (new to me, at least) where chapters are published out of sequence as inspiration strikes. I have to admit, it's a lot of fun, but I'm not sure how to classify these when I post. Suggestions? Oh, and please do stay tuned. -GW


	4. Chapter 4

Damage Control 4

The first zap of the defibrillator made her jump. When the whine of the charging cycle began again immediately, she walked to the doorway. John was facing away from her, but she could read his body language. He was at the foot of Sherlock's bed, gripping the footboard with both hands. His back was rigid.

"Clear!" *ZAP*

John jumped at the sound, just as she had done, and then he lowered his head. The flat drone from the heart monitor was unchanged.

"Charging." The whine began again, and then there was a beep.

"Wait!" John's voice was sharp, but he didn't look up.

Another beep. And then two.

"Wait." Softer, like a prayer.

Everyone froze in mid-motion, all eyes on the heart monitor. All but John's. He remained in the same position, head down, hands on the footboard. She didn't need to see his face to know that his eyes were closed in complete concentration, focusing everything he had on willing Sherlock's heart to keep going.

Three. Four. The rhythm picked up. Steadied.

"He's back," one of the team said. They packed the equipment back on the cart and she stepped back to let them through. Sherlock's doctor remained by his side for a moment to check that he was stable. Then he said a few words to John, who was still standing at the end of the bed. She couldn't hear what he said, but John nodded.

When the doctor left, she went to John's side and hooked her arm with his. His focus was on Sherlock, of course, but he tipped his head to rest it against her. It was as if he'd been running a marathon, shaky and out of breath. After a few minutes, he inhaled deeply and straightened.

"He *is* going to kill me, if this keeps up much longer."

"I know you think you're being funny," she said softly, "but the same thought occurred to me as well." She placed two fingers against the pulse point on his wrist, but he pulled away. "If I hooked you up to the monitors, what do you suppose we would see?"

He smiled. "I'm fine, Mary. I just wasn't braced for a crisis." He looked at Sherlock. "He was stable. I don't understand..."

She left him for long enough to bring the chairs back to where they had been next to Sherlock's bed. Then she led John to his place at Sherlock's side, and sat down facing him. "You've been running on pure adrenaline for hours, and it' going to catch up with you."

She saw him glance down at his left hand. His spread fingers were trembling, and he closed them into a fist, then looked up and caught her watching. He smiled again.

"I'll be fine, Mary. I just need him not to do that again." He unclenched his left hand and laid it over Sherlock's right. "Why don't you go home? There's no sense both of us being here, and you need your rest." He smiled at her belly. "Both of you."

The tenderness in his eyes made her heart ache. He would despise her when he found out what she had done, and she was becoming more and more convinced that it was inevitable. She had made mistakes. Probably more than she was even aware of. One of them was going to expose her soon, and her life would be over.

She and Sherlock were the two people John loved most in the world, and she knew who he would choose. Not because he loved Sherlock more, but because Sherlock hadn't betrayed him. Sherlock hadn't broken his heart.

Not this time. He had done a pretty thorough job of it two years ago, but this time was on her. This time, he would be the one picking up the pieces.

"I'll go down and get us some coffee," she held up a hand to halt the protest before he could speak, "and then we'll talk about me going home. But I'm not leaving until I'm convinced you're all right."

She stood, then leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of his head.

"We *are* going to talk," he told her with a mock frown of disapproval.

She stopped in the doorway and looked back at him, but he had raised up from his chair to touch Sherlock's face. The tenderness in that gesture made her throat tighten. *Oh, John, I'm so sorry.*

She closed the door quietly behind her.

Mycroft was standing a few paces down the hall. "Mrs. Watson. I wonder if you might have a few moments to talk."

End of Part 4

Author's notes: It's short, I know, but I won't have time to do much writing in the next few days, and I just couldn't leave the boy in cardiac arrest. Please feed the muse while I'm gone. -GW


	5. Chapter 5

There was, of course, the possibility that Mycroft had arrived in the midst of Sherlock's cardiac arrest, and he was about to ask her his condition, but that faint hope was erased with his next words.

"My car is out front," Mycroft continued. "I think privacy is called for, don't you?"

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder toward Sherlock's room.

"Oh, come now, Mrs. Watson. You don't seriously believe that I would spirit you off. I simply want to talk."

She squared her shoulders. There seemed no question now that he knew, and she wanted this conversation to take place as far from John as possible. "I'll come with you."

Mycroft's black Mercedes was idling at the kerb. His driver was standing with his gloved hand on the passenger door handle.

"I thought we were going to talk *here*." She stopped a few steps from the car.

Mycroft turned to the driver. "That will be all for now."

The driver touched the brim of his hat and walked away.

"There, you see? We're not going anywhere." He opened the door and motioned for her to enter.

"If John comes looking for me and finds me sitting in the back of your car, he's going to have questions."

"Please get in."

She complied, and Mycroft joined her, then pulled the door shut and pressed a button on the armrest that locked them in.

He held out his hand. "Your purse, please."

"Why?" she asked, but Mycroft just held her gaze. She took the strap from her shoulder and gave him the bag.

He searched it thoroughly and handed it back. "I must say I'm relieved that you're not wasting my time pretending you have no idea what this is about."

"I think you may be reading too much into my coming with you."

Mycroft studied her face for a moment. "Very well. Then I'll just come straight to the point. I know that you shot my brother, and I find myself faced with an array of options, one of which is to eliminate you in the most unpleasant way I can devise." He folded his hands in his lap. "But before I make any decision, I require facts. I believe I know why you shot him, but I would like to hear your version."

She had been prepared for anything but an overt threat. "If I told you it was a dreadful mistake, that I panicked and made the worst possible choice, what difference would it make?"

"It might make a great deal of difference, if I believed you. But knowing who and what you are, I find it difficult to accept panic as an excuse."

"But that's what happened." She hated the plea in her voice, but the simple fact was that she had put herself in this position. Mycroft Holmes was far more dangerous than the people she had gone to such lengths to escape, and she had nearly killed the only person that mattered to him. She was frankly surprised to be alive. "I lost control. Sherlock would not have told John I was there, I know that now. I knew it then. When he got over the shock of seeing me, all he wanted was to help me stop Magnusson. I don't *know* why I shot him, but I swear on John's life, I never meant to kill him."

Mycroft's expression was unreadable. "I believe you didn't intend to kill him, because it would have gained you nothing, and it stands to cost you a great deal."

"If you believe me, then what are we doing here?"

"I thought I had made that fairly clear. You have a past that you want desperately to keep hidden. We're negotiating your future."

"How long have you known who I was?"

"Who you *are*, Mrs. Watson. I've known who you are since shortly after you took up with John Watson. It was part of a promise I made to Sherlock, the circumstances of which are not relevant to this discussion. I had John under surveillance, and when you came into his life, your background was checked as a matter of routine. I found that you were a CIA operative who had gone off grid for reasons which are also not relevant."

"Why didn't you tell John as soon as you found out? Why did Sherlock keep letting me believe *he* didn't know?" Mycroft's implacable expression shifted. It was very brief, but she was very good, and she realized that she had just stumbled onto a key piece of the puzzle. "Sherlock didn't know. You didn't tell him about me. Why?"

"I didn't tell John because you posed no threat to him. When Sherlock returned to London, I didn't tell him for the same reason." He paused. "I made a mistake, and now I'm controlling the damage."

"Controlling it how?" She had not brought a weapon, a fact that Mycroft had established by searching her purse. It was beginning to look as if that might prove to be her final mistake. "Have you devised an appropriately unpleasant way to get rid of me, then? Because of what I did, or because I'm proof that you're as fallible as the rest of us?"

"You might want to tread more carefully. Poking the bear isn't courageous, it's stupid, and you are anything but stupid. I will agree to keep your secret from your husband, if you will agree to my terms. I intend to make you an asset."

Blackmail. She looked at him with an entirely new perspective. "You think you're going to threaten me into killing for you? You're worse than Magnusson. I went there to kill him for just telling me what he knew."

"But you failed. Magnusson is still very much alive, while my brother..." He stopped and cleared his throat. "Let's not waste time dancing, shall we? You don't want me to tell John that you shot his best friend, and you certainly don't want me to tell him why. I am willing to keep that information to myself in exchange for your help. I would call that an equitable trade."

"What kind of help?"

"My brother has no sense of self-preservation, and he steadfastly refuses my protection. I tried to buy your husband's cooperation when he first entered the picture, but that was before I understood what kind of man he is. John Watson would not hesitate to offer his own life to protect my brother. He's already done it more than once. But Sherlock needs more than a courageous soldier watching his back. He needs someone with the same training and skills as the people who are threatening him. Someone in his inner circle who will know when he's crossing the line. That person, Mrs. Watson, is you."

She wasn't easily surprised, yet Mycroft had managed to do it twice in a single conversation. "You're willing to overlook my indiscretions if I promise to help you protect Sherlock."

"Euphemistically put, yes. Your *indiscretions* will be forgiven, in exchange for your word that you will protect my brother with your life."

Sherlock would keep her secret to protect John. Mycroft would keep silent because he needed her. But Magnusson was still a problem. "Magnusson told me why he found me useful, by the way. He said he was working his way up to you. He planned to use me to control John, and John to control Sherlock. That would give him direct access to you. It still does."

"Yes, I'm quite aware of his intentions. Let me take care of Magnusson."

"How will you prevent him telling John about me?"

Mycroft met her gaze levelly. "Let's just say everyone has a pressure point. That includes Magnusson."

And if anyone could find Magnusson's pressure point, it would be Mycroft Holmes. "If I agree to your terms, and something happens to Sherlock that I'm unable to prevent, where does that leave me?"

"I have been looking out for my brother his entire life. It's far from an easy task. I would not hold you responsible unless it was actually your fault. In that determination, however, I will be the sole judge."

What choice did she have? "John must never know, or the deal is off."

Mycroft's entire demeanor changed, and his voice grew deadly calm. "If my brother does not recover, our deal will no longer exist, and what John knows or doesn't know will be the least of your problems. On that, you have my word."

He pressed the button and unlocked her door. "Now, if you will excuse me, I'm late for an appointment."

She got out of the car and watched him pull away. If Sherlock didn't recover, she would be able to measure her future in minutes. Of that, she had no doubt.

When she returned to Sherlock's room, she found John asleep in the chair, still holding Sherlock's hand. Sherlock was awake, and he must have tensed when he saw her because John woke suddenly and got up to check on him. Then he saw Mary. He glanced at his watch.

"You were gone a long time." He noticed her empty hands. "You were serious about cutting me off caffeine, I see." He smiled.

"You can't have any unless you share." Sherlock's voice was soft but it was the first full sentence she had heard him utter.

The transformation in her husband was amazing. He looked ten years younger than he had when she left.

"A whole sentence," he practically giggled. "Pretty impressive." He turned to Mary, still smiling. "Really, where were you all this time?"

"I, um, ran into Mycroft on my way to the cafeteria and we talked for a bit." She looked at Sherlock and easily read his reaction. John was too beside himself with relief to notice.

Sherlock met her gaze with one so intense that she couldn't mistake his message. *Don't tell John.* Ironically, it was the same warning she'd given him.

"Is he coming up, then?" John asked her.

She kept her focus on Sherlock. "He said he'll come by later. He had something he had to do first." She saw the moment he read the promise in her eyes.

End of Damage Control

Author's Notes: It bothered me that Mycroft seemed to bear no ill will toward Mary Watson in HLV. He had to know who she was, and that she shot his brother. Mycroft being Mycroft, why didn't he kill her? This chapter is one possible explanation. I'd love to hear what you thought. -GW


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